Vain Healer
by bouquet of dreams
Summary: Futaba was once a famed actress— the beloved “Doll of Japan”. All that changed when she crossed the wrong people. With her career in ruin, she’s forced to return to the root of all that she is: UA and a man named Aizawa Shouta. (Aizawa Shouta x OC) (rated M just in case)
1. 01

**Vain Healer**

_Aizawa Shouta x Original Character_

_ Kobayashi Futaba, with her billowing plumes of chestnut hair and extravagantly glittering gowns, was once the "Doll of Japan" - a renowned actress beloved by all; but her delicate world of glitz and glamor came crashing down when she crossed paths with the wrong talk show host._

_ Her reputation and career in ruin, she's forced into hiding; in her dismay, Principal Nezu of UA gives her an offer far too tempting to resist._

_ Futaba refuses UA's opening to become the school nurse at first, knowing that that place and the people within its walls caused terrible repressed memories to bubble to the surface. Not to mention the root of all her misfortune, Aizawa Shouta, was a teacher there._

_ But she was jobless and broke. What choice did she even have to begin with?_

— ——— —

She chose the searing heat of the spotlight over the sun, the raucous cheers of fans over birdsong, and the sickly sweet scent of pink smoke over billowing ocean air. To others, this was far too much; to Kobayashi Futaba, it was perfect.

There, before a national audience, was where she felt most alive.

"Before we begin the interview, I'd just like to say, miss Futaba, you look absolutely splendid tonight." The talk show host said, brimming with excitement. "Of course this is expected of the one and only Doll of Japan. Tell me, who are you wearing?"

"Oh my," Futaba tittered. "You're too kind KiraKira-san." She kept her smile even as her gaze fell to the host's get-up — rainbow-dyed hair and a sequined hot pink jumpsuit. What was that? Chanel? Armani? Suddenly Futaba felt tiny. She was being upstaged and someone had to pay. It would probably be her stylist.

Futaba forced an even expression, tucking a stray lock of chestnut hair behind her ear. This outfit would just have to make due. "Well, I should probably start from the top, right? These pearl clips you see here," she gestured to the accessories adorning her head, "are Dior."

The audience cooed in awe.

"This pearl choker is also from Dior. They're part of a limited edition set the brand released earlier this month."

KiraKira clasped his hands together, "I would expect no less from a top star!"

"My dress," Futaba stood to give the audience a better view, "is from Alexander McQueen's latest collection; I believe it was called 'forest fae'. You can see how intricately woven the folds are on the neckline to mimic budding flowers."

"Forest green to match your eyes, I presume?"

Futaba grinned, "Why else?" As she sat back down on her seat, the host spoke, "Let's not forget the shoes!"

"Oh, these white stilettos are Prada."

"Beautiful, just stunning." _No, its not enough_. "Lets now move on to juicer topics, shall we?"

Futaba folded her hands on her lap. "I'm sure you've got a million questions lined up for me about my movie now that filming is finished."

"You know me too well, Futaba-dear," the host reached into his glittering breast pocket. "I have a list prepared right here." KiraKira laughed, revealing there was nothing hidden in his suit. His punchline wasn't the best, but chuckles erupted in the room regardless.

"I'm told I'm psychic," was Futaba's nonchalant reply.

Something mischievous seemed to click in KiraKira's eyes and Futaba couldn't help but grimace. She could guess where the conversation was headed next, and she had unintentionally led it there.

"Speaking of psychic abilities, there's a rumor going around that you were once enrolled at Shiketsu High School. Did you want to become a hero before you stumbled on the acting scene?"

"Ah, well..." Futaba scratched her cheek, unsure how to handle the question. It was one she'd struggled to avoid for years, even though one day, she knew she'd have to come up with an answer. "I suppose I did."

At this, the crowd gasped; KiraKira leaned into the woman, egging her on.

"I spent a year at Shiketsu then dropped out. After a few months I decided to call one of the business cards that offered acting gigs and landed my first job. The rest is history."

"If only the journey to stardom was just as easy for the rest of us," KiraKira hummed, but the fox-like expression on his face told Futaba that he was far from finished. "What Quirk do you have? Was it psychic manipulation like you mentioned earlier? It must be something amazing considering you were accepted into Shiketsu."

She sighed, this man sure liked to ask the hard-hitting questions. "No, no. It's nothing like that. Actually, my Quirk is called 'Essence', what it essentially does is heal. Not much to it other than that."

"Why'd you drop out then?"

"A healing Quirk is great and all, but its useless in a battle. So I decided Heroism wasn't my calling and left."

KiraKira sighed and finally leaned back in his chair. "What a shame, we could've had a Pro Hero in our midst; instead we have a master actress." The room echoed with laughter.

"When one door closes another opens," Futaba mused, gaze unfocused in some distant memory.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I also heard your brother graduated from UA years back, he was in Midnight and Present Mic's batch." When she looked up, KiraKira's legs were crossed, his face unreadable. Futaba felt like a mouse under a cat's merciless claws. "That's correct," was her cautious reply.

"Is he still with us?"

She bit her lip, the question churning her stomach.

"Futaba?"

The woman shook her head. "No. He died in action shortly after getting his Professional Hero License."

In the quiet of the studio you could almost hear a pin drop.

"A valiant death," KiraKira said. "I give you my condolences."

"Thank you."

"You and your brother have a two-year gap, you would have been finishing your first year at Shiketsu when he left. Is his death a factor in your choice to end your studies at Shiketsu?"

Futaba almost audibly gasped, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she met the host's gaze with two cold emerald eyes — daring him. _Go on, ask me that question one more time_. To her severe displeasure, he obliged. "Did you quit because he died?"

"That is a question I'd prefer not to answer."

"This is a talk show, Futaba dear. What's the use if you don't talk?"

"I was told I'd be interviewed about my movie."

"We'll get to that later."

Futaba launched out of her seat, fuming, swallowing the bile that was clawing its way up her throat. She had to remember she was on live television. If she were to do something brash she might as well hold a gun against her temple. "I'll be taking my leave then," she choked, trying her best to smile.

Turning to the audience, she bid them her farewell, "Thank you everyone, you've been a wonderful audience. If you'd like to see more of me in the future I suggest you watch any show but KiraKira's." The crowd bellowed into a flurry of laughter and cheer. "Have a good evening!"

— —— —

"That was quite the performance."

"I couldn't help it. KiraKira was an ass."

"The tabloids will be talking about this for months. They'll have a field day."

"Let them talk, its free advertising for my movie."

Futaba laid exhausted upon the dressing room couch, body stretched over the cushions in a position that challenged the health of her spine. Her mind reeled, heart still pounding in the cage of her chest. She wondered for a moment what had suddenly made her so sensitive. It wasn't as if she hadn't been asked about her brother and her past before; in fact it was a recurring theme on practically every talk show she appeared on. Judging by the look on her manager's face, he bore the same sentiments.

The woman groaned, rubbing her aching temples. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Looking at you like what? Like you're an idiot?" Kai scoffed. "Well you _are_. That means I have every right."

Futaba bristled; but the bitter look on her face quickly gave way to one of sadness. "You're not helping Kai. What I need is you to turn manager mode off and for a few minutes, be my friend."

An exasperated sigh escaped the man's lips and he sat himself down on the sofa adjacent to hers. "I apologize. I guess I'm being a little uptight," Kai said. "I'm just having a really hard time trying to wrap my head around why you reacted the way you did. You usually deflect these sort of questions with ease."

That was true enough. Futaba would purge the tension from the air with jokes and clever one liners Kai prepared for her whenever she'd find herself in a bind. For some reason, she just couldn't pull that off tonight.

The room was quiet for a few beats as Futaba toyed with the hem of her green McQueen dress when the realization suddenly hit her. "I know what it is!" She jolted off her seat so abruptly the world spun, Kai reached out to steady her. "What is it?" He asked, just as titillated as her.

"It's this dress."

Kai paused, grimacing. "What?"

"But its not just this dress, its also these hair clips — and this choker and these stupid heels too."

The grimace seemed to be permanently etched on his face at this point. Futaba feared he'd developed a muscle disorder, "A-Are you okay?" She keenly asked.

"_Me_? I'm fine!" Kai shook his head. "The real question here is are _you_?"

Futaba scoffed, crossing her arms. "Well I would have been, had the stylist you hired put any thought into what she'd be dressing me in tonight."

If it were humanely possible, Kai's grimace would have wrinkled even further. "What do you mean?! Kobayashi Futaba you are wearing a three thousand dollar Alexander McQueen mini dress. Please elaborate just how thoughtless you believe your stylist was."

"It doesn't matter how much this dress cost, I was still upstaged."

"Upstaged? By who?" He ran his fingers through his hair. "By KiraKira and his tacky hot pink jumpsuit? Are we in the early 2000's? He might as well have plastered the words 'Juicy' to his ass. How outdated can you get?"

Futaba bit the inside of her cheek, sniffling, "But he was so sparkly."

Sighing, Kai resorted to massaging his skull to dull the migraine that pounded against his brain. "Yes Futaba he was very sparkly, but you were classy — like fine wine next to cheap vodka."

"—Like a modern woman who has her shit together?" Futaba asked, hugging herself.

"Yes. Whatever that looks like."

Satisfied, Futaba nodded. "Okay."

A look of genuine concern flashed on Kai's face as he gently placed his palm against the tight fist Futaba had laid in her lap. She met his gaze with a tentative smile. Futaba had explained her lapse in judgement, but Kai couldn't help but think there was more to this than his client realized.

There was no use debating it further, Futaba's problems were hers to resolve. Kai's job as her manager and friend was to simply be with her every step of the way. "Please promise me you won't let your emotions get the better of you again; I'll have to clean up this fiasco with PR later. Not to mention no one crosses KiraKira scot-free; let's hope he realizes how sorry we are and shows us sympathy."

Futaba nodded, the gloom in her eyes replaced with hope. "I promise." Her calm transition served to end Kai's worries, albeit temporarily. He would deal with the media later; what mattered most now was his client's immediate safety.

"Right." Kai said with finality as he stood and fished his keys from his pocket. "It's late. Let's get you home."


	2. 02

**Vain Healer**

_Aizawa Shouta x Original Character_

Hello there! As soon as I posted this story I noticed that a few people decided to follow it. Although it might not seem like much, I offer you my thanks. I'm not exactly the most confident in my writing skills, so the support I've gotten thus far feels like such a blessing to me. In return, I'll do my best on this fic and Futaba's story. Again, thank you. I'll let y'all get to actually reading now. Bye!

— ——— —

Futaba's mornings were always comically extravagant. She'd risen upon her ornate Italian handcrafted king sized bed to her alarm, a chorus of birdsong and violins; and stepped out onto polished quartz floors. Then she gazed out the window, past billowing lace curtains, at the sight of the city below and thought of how powerful she felt in her penthouse — above everyone and everything.

Once she was satisfied, she fluttered out of bed and into her bathroom. The woman stared at her reflection in the mirror for a few minutes, searching for wrinkles, dark spots or flaws of any kind. On this particular day, her skin was as smooth and unmarred as porcelain; but on the days she was not as fortunate, the quick utilization of her Quirk fixed her right up.

When she was done caring for her skin, she moved on to the her bath. She prepared her oils and imported soaps, pouring them into the water until her tub turned bright pink. For hours she soaked into the concoction of scents until her nostrils numbed. Futaba scrubbed away at every single crevice and corner of her being; once her hands and feet pruned to a point they hurt, she finally hopped out of the bath to dry.

Futaba hadn't been booked for the day, as her manager saw it fit to give her a weekend break after the year-long filming of her most recent movie concluded. That meant she had two whole days of boring, but that also gave her time to catch up on the thing she loved most: spending money.

"I should wear something simple today," she mumbled, staring down her tunnel-like drawers of clothing. "This'll do." Futaba reached for a Lanvin barbar-print shirt dress in the back of her closet. As she slipped the garment on, her feet found a pair of baby blue Givenchy flats discarded on the floor.

"Oh Futaba, what am I going to do with you?" The woman lamented to the version of herself in the mirror. "Your beauty makes even the most dull of clothes look fabulous."

As if to scorn her pompous ego, Futaba's phone began to ring from its place on the nightstand. The woman sighed, unbelieving that for a moment she thought she was actually free. Celebrities like her didn't have off days. Work always seemed to seep into the cracks of even the most mundane interactions she had in her daily life.

"Doll of Japan speaking, may I ask who this is?" Futaba answered, placing the call on speaker so she could get to combing her hair.

"_Oh my God_. Futaba, its me, Kai." Her manager's voice was strained— somewhat panicked. Futaba paid no mind and continued setting her locks in place.

"Hi Kai, what's up?"

"What's up? Have you seen what the media has written about you? Check the news — the tabloids, twitter — its everywhere."

This finally seemed to catch her attention. "What's everywhere?"

"Literally every mistake you've ever made. KiraKira has made it his personal mission to cancel you."

"What?" She scratched her cheek; Futaba couldn't help but chuckle nervously. "But I didn't do anything _terrible_, did I? I simply said I wouldn't willingly appear on his talk show anymore."

"Uh yes. But you also told the audience to watch any other show but his."

Futaba could feel her stomach sinking with her manager's every word. "I did _not_."

"Really? Think harder."

_Futaba launched out of her seat, fuming, swallowing the bile that was clawing its way up her throat. She had to remember she was on live television. If she were to do something brash she might as well hold a gun against her temple. "I'll be taking my leave then," she choked, trying her best to smile._

_Turning to the audience, she bid them her farewell, "Thank you everyone, you've been a wonderful audience. If you'd like to see more of me in the future I suggest you watch any show but KiraKira's." The crowd bellowed into a flurry of laughter and cheer. "Have a good evening!"_

"..._Oh_."

"Damnit, I knew this would happen," he said. "KiraKira is a powerful ally, but once he's pissed he's a just as powerful enemy."

"—You can fix it right?

"Have you even seen the dirt this man has on you?"

"...No?"

"I'm coming over to your place right now. Sit tight and don't do anything stupid. We'll work this mess out together, okay?"

"Okay," Futaba replied with a sense of finality, her voice trembling with worry.

Though it was tempting to know the second she checked entertainment news she'd be bombarded with articles all about her, Futaba knew it would be best if she'd wait for Kai so they could look at them together. She wasn't exactly the best at handling the media, and didn't know what she was capable of if she were overwhelmed with whatever emotion the articles would elicit from her.

Besides. Futaba was tough, she was no stranger to this sort of warfare — truth be told, it probably wasn't even that big of a deal anyway.

— ——— —

Turns out, it was a big deal. _A massive deal_. A deal so consequential, in fact, that Futaba's entire reputation and career now hung in the balance; Japanese netizens were responsible for how the scales would tip, and it wasn't looking too good.

"I can't believe Kobayashi Futaba has a healing Quirk but uses it on skincare and vanity instead of helping the community. People like her are the reason I don't have faith in humanity anymore..." Futaba trailed off, sinking further into the living room sofa with every word she read off her laptop screen.

"I not liek Kobyahsi Foostaba becaus the konxept of her is not gud I thunk she... mik a bed vry bad... enpresyun in —" Kai cringed. "I don't quite understand what this person is trying to say but I don't think they like you very much either."

"ARGHHH!" Came Futaba's dejected screech. "Is there seriously not at least one kind comment on any of these articles? Doesn't anyone care how awful KiraKira was to me last night? Why is no one talking about that, huh?!"

"I don't understand any of this either. Late Night with KiraKira-san's ratings plummeted last night and all the social media networks blew up with admiration for how you handled the problem— now all anyone can talk about are the minor scandals we've settled in the past."

Futaba nodded vigorously. "They thought I was witty right? I was savage and totally pwned him or whatever kids say these days."

Kai didn't really do anything. He just sat there with a blank expression as Futaba stared damp-eyed at him until he finally gave in. "Fine. Yes. They thought you were savage." He leaned back on the couch. "But that's besides the point. What I'm trying to say is that this was definitely premeditated, some sort of scheme to divert hate from KiraKira onto you."

"The guy's notorious for his thirst for vengeance. Remember how he destroyed that pop star, Dean's whole life after he started dating his ex?" She sighed. "I should've known he'd come back at me guns blazing regardless of how insignificant what I did was."

"Do you regret it?"

There was a long pause as Futaba's mind churned in search of the words to explain how she truly felt; once she found them, a content expression graced her tired face. "No. If anything, I'm proud I had the guts to get out of that chair and leave."

"I see. If that's what you think, I'm proud of you too."

For the first time that morning, both Kai and Futaba grinned ear to ear. 'Maybe things aren't as complex as we believed them out to be. Maybe this just needs time,' the two thought.

Kai laughed, stretching his arms out before him. "C'mere you idiot, let me give you a hug."

Giggling, Futaba leaped out of her seat and into his embrace. "Ugh, what would I do without my best-est friend?"

"You'd probably be lying dead in a ditch somewhere."

She gasped, punching his shoulder. "I would not!"

"I think I know how we should handle this now," Kai's honey eyes twinkled with hope. "You just need to lay low for a while. Release a statement of how all these issues have been resolved already in the past, and when that's done, you go on vacation somewhere for a few months until your movie finishes editing and gets released in theaters."

"By the time the film is out everybody will have forgotten about this whole ordeal!"

"—Just like that all our problems will be solved." They both erupt into a flurry of laughter, the tension in the air dissipating.

"Oh man, I was worried there for little bit."

"Me too. You're literally the only talent I've got that's making me money."

"Let me go pop a bottle of champagne— we'll toast to still being filthy freakin' rich."

With an exchange of cheeky smiles, they stood to head to the kitchen, but their glee was interrupted by the curt buzz of Futaba's doorbell. "You know what? I'll get that. Go work on our champagne," Kai said with a shrug. Nodding, Futaba disappeared around the corner.

Kai made his way to the door, bouncing with every step; and when he got there, he greeted the guest with a warm smile— the expression of the large, burly man dressed in black that now stood before him, however, did not reciprocate that warmth. Instead, the man's expression was icy, as was the assistant's, beside him.

"Uh, hi?" Kai's grip on the door handle tightened. "Do you need something?"

The man nodded, his face softening. "I'm Agent Nakamura Daichi and this is my partner, Tensei Sen." Both dipped into a low bow, one Kai quickly returned.

"We're with the Public Security Intelligence Agency," Agent Nakamura and Tensei held up their ID cards and badges.

"Oh. Okay... Why are you here, exactly?"

"Miss Kobayashi Futaba is to be arrested for drug possession."

And that was the beginning to an end.


	3. 03

**Vain Healer**

_Aizawa Shouta x Original Character_

This chapter release is kind of late because I was fighting myself to get it done. I guess writing my first actual fanfic has made me realize that much of what I've been doing is thinking about all the interesting points I'd like to incorporate to the story without actually finding out how to write what's in the path to getting there. I have to hunker down and write the boring stuff to get to the jucier parts. Anyways, here's to hoping we finally see Shouta in the next chapter!

— ——— —

The great crystalline form of the UA Academy building loomed over Futaba like a blinding giant. She shielded her eyes with a sweater-clad arm from the light of the sun reflected off the tower's windows; still, she couldn't see.

"Its too hot," she whispered as sweat trickled down her brow. "I can already feel the heat drying up my skin."

Futaba was aware of how childish the comment was. There were exponentially more important problems she had to deal with as of the moment, such as her crippling credit card debt, the hordes of paparazzi still in search of her whereabouts, her exile from the entertainment industry and the crappy apartment she had no choice but to move into. Perhaps it was her way of attempting to forget the worst of her misfortunes. Perhaps she was just stupid.

Nonetheless, Futaba had an unmatched capacity for procrastination.

"Oh hey, that cloud kinda looks like a flower," she mumbled absently once more.

At this juncture you must be beginning to wonder how on earth the so-called "Doll of Japan" fell from grace. One moment she was living her vainest, choking on poverty the next.

It all began that sunny Wednesday morning eleven months ago.

_"Miss Kobayashi Futaba is to be arrested for drug possession."_

_Kai stumbled backwards, the weight and reality of the words ramming into him with the force of a bullet train. "W-what do you mean?" He stuttered. Kai _never_ stuttered. "I'm her manager. I can attest that my client has never been in possession nor has ever used any form of illegal drugs."_

_A bitter laughed bubbled up his throat. "There has got to be some kind of mistake. She must have been framed."_

_"That is up for debate sir," came the PSIA Agent's cold reply._

_"Why's it so noisy out there? Kai, who's at the door?"_

_Kai's stomach filled with dread._

_Like a child toddling into her parent's bedroom after a bad dream, Futaba made her way to her manager's side. The man held a protective arm out before her, keeping her from getting too close._

_"What's wrong?" Futaba asked again, though this time, the fear in her voice was apparent._

_"Miss Kobayashi," Agent Tensei's voice was kind. "This will be a lot easier on everyone if you come peacefully."_

_Futaba took a brief pause to gather herself. A thousand questions burned into her mind, but she had no answers. Something told her the agents did._

_"Okay," she finally said, resigned. Futaba held out her wrists, to which they were promptly placed in heavy steel cuffs._

_The Agent's faces filled with relief. "Alright then. Its time to go."_

The accusations of drug possession and extortion were, of course, proven false, with all evidence against the actress either unsubstantiated or misinterpreted. Even the supposed video recording of Futaba injecting an unknown substance into her arm— the pivotal piece of evidence the prosecution held against her— was nothing but smoke and mirrors, the woman on tape was a mere lookalike.

After months of battling the substantial accusations against her, Futaba won the case and was set free. Unfortunately, the damage had already been dealt to her reputation and her name became a textbook example of how the entertainment industry could so easily turn on even its most beloved of assets.

Her endorsement deals, contracts and sponsorships were revoked, as companies no longer saw her fit to represent their brands; then her acting contract was annulled and Kai was no longer her manager.

Futaba remembered how doleful her best friend of five years looked when he came to deliver the news. "I won't say that I'm sorry," he said. "Because this isn't over yet. You're going to make a comeback one day." But the look in his eyes said otherwise.

It would have been fine if Futaba had the sense to invest the remainder of her funds into solid businesses; that would have at least given her a steady income whilst she searched for work, but she didn't. Instead she squandered her money, foolishly believing it would never run out— and when it did, she relied on credit cards.

She was finally wrenched from her self-destructive frenzy once the bills started rolling in. Futaba did everything in her power to pay back all she owed— she sold her penthouse, all of her things, her cars and her clothes; but the mountain of credit card debt she accumulated had already grown too high.

Then she moved into a shady one-bedroom apartment located somewhere in the outskirts of the city, chopped all her hair off and went by a fake name. It was all she could think of doing to somehow land a job, but her lack of experience (and sometimes, the misfortune of being recognized) left her jobless and broke.

But like a wretched beacon of hope and heartbreak on cue, UA's principal Nezu arrived at her apartment door.

_"Mr Principal?" Futaba startled, nearly spilling her instant noodles onto the floor._

_"Oh my," his tone showed his concern. "I'm sorry to have scared you Kobayashi Futaba-san," The small bear-like man smiled. "It's been years since I've last seen you. Mind if I come in?"_

_Still flustered, Futaba peered over her shoulder into her dim and dingy apartment. She mentally slapped herself at the sight of week-old laundry and unpacked boxes strewn about the floor. "Um, now's not a very good time, sir..."_

_"Nonsense!" He exclaimed, pushing past her and into the tiny living space._

_With her hair in matted knots and glasses crooked on her face, Futaba's face flushed bright red. "I'm sorry Mr Principal! It's a bit messy in here as of the moment. I haven't got my bearings yet."_

_Principal Nezu laughed as he hopped onto the tattered couch. "Messy is an understatement, it looks like a rabid animal went rampaging in here!"_

_"Well, its not as if I was expecting a guest. If you'd have told me you were coming beforehand I would've tidied up a bit."_

_"If I had told you earlier you would have fled."_

_Futaba's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. He wasn't wrong, but for some reason that just made it worse. "I apologize Mr Principal. Would you like some coffee?"_

_At this, the man shook his head. "No need to trouble yourself Kobayashi Futaba-san, I won't be long."_

_She saw the well-meaning look in his bead-like eyes and decided to pull out a chair and sit adjacent to him. Finally settled, she asked: "Something big must've happened for you to come all this way to find me."_

_"Perceptive of you, though you weren't as hard to find as you think you are."_

_Futaba scratched her cheek. "So? What is it then?"_

_Principal Nezu crossed his legs and folded his hands over his knee. It always astounded Futaba how a man that looked like a stuffed animal could carry such a powerful presence. In his voice was a polite keenness. "I was hoping to hire you to work at the Academy."_

_The words, though spoken calmly, came thundering down into Futaba's chest— she had to bite her tongue to keep from gasping. UA Academy? What was the Principal thinking?_

_"You see, Recovery Girl retired recently. Her daughter just gave birth and she wants to spend her golden years taking care of her grandchild. That of course has left the school nurse position vacant. Considering how often our students get injured you can see why this is a problem."_

_Futaba shook her head, hands clawing into her jeans. "You can't be serious. Why me? I'm sure there are millions of people out there with healing and recovery-type Quirks. People with the right qualifications—"_

_"You're right. But none need it more than you do."_

_That struck a cord, Futaba felt like smashing a fist against the smiling man's face. Since when had she needed favors? When had she made the transition between having everything to having nothing at all?_

_"No." Her voice came out hoarse._

_Principal Nezu was unfazed, he seemed to have known that that would be her answer. He continued on regardless, "We offer good pay— and due to recent events, on-campus housing for students as well as staff. You'll be able to slowly pay off your debts and live without fear of paparazzi ever finding you. If you'd like, the school could also shoulder—"_

_"You look like you have good ears Mr Principal. I said no."_

_The man was still smiling warmly, he didn't seem to get the message. "I understand how difficult this decision may be for you, especially considering your history with the school... and its current staff. But I urge you to reconsider."_

_Futaba's knuckled had turned white as she balled her jeans into her fists. "I—"_

_"You don't have to answer me now, Kobayashi Futaba-san. Giving you time to mull this over is the least I could do for barging in on you like this," Principal Nezu's voice had taken on a softness. He was sorry for something, and it wasn't hard to figure out what._

_Tohru's cheeky grin flashed before Futaba. In her head, she heard his voice like a broken record, going on and on for an eternity. She remembered him tousling her hair as he bid her goodbye for the last time. Then out the door he was._

_Tears were brimming in the woman's eyes, but Principal Nezu refused to acknowledge them. He had brought forth her weaknesses enough for one day. "If you show up to the school on Sunday morning I'll take it as a sign that you'll take the job. If you don't, I'll get to hiring someone else." With that, he was out the door._

Futaba sobbed until morning the next day, heart hammering inside her chest until dawn. She lay in bed the rest of the afternoon, too exhausted to stand, but when night finally fell, she slept better than she had in months. When she awoke, she made her choice.

"Is it too late to turn back now?" The woman whispered, nervously shifting from foot to foot. UA's front gates looked more and more like a steel mouth, waiting to gobble her up whole with every passing second.

As soon as she passed through those metal doors, the memories she made as youth would come crashing into her— the notion clawed at her chest. She never thought she'd want to be back in her ugly old apartment as much as she did now. Swiftly, Futaba turned on her heel to leave.

"Kobayashi Futaba-san, I'm glad you came."

Futaba's breath caught in her throat as she rooted in place. For a moment the woman thought she should turn to face the man that had so kindly offered her work, but her shoulders began to tremble; no longer could she think straight.

It was a blessing Principal Nezu didn't seem to mind. Instead, he sidled up beside her, not meeting her gaze. "Thank you for coming. I know it wasn't an easy decision to make."

The woman shook her head, allowing her cropped hair to shield her face from his sight. "It wasn't too bad. Now that I think about it, coming here is the smartest thing I've done in a while."

"I'm glad you think so. Come now, let's get you settled so I can put you to work."


	4. 04

**Vain Healer**

_Aizawa Shouta x Original Character_

Hi there! Here's today's update. By the way, if any of you find it more convenient than reading off of , this story can also be found on Wattpad under the same name. My username there is "_chrysanthemums". Anyways, I apologize Shouta isn't in this chapter yet— but it's for good reason (I think). I feel as if I need to expand a bit on backstory before writing interactions between major characters just so there isn't any confusion. However, I can finally say, without a shadow of a doubt that Shouta will appear in the next chapter! *Freakin' finally* am I right? Well, I won't hold you any longer than I already have. See you in the next one!

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The new flat she was given wasn't exactly a penthouse apartment towering above the city, but anything was better than the drug den she had called home before.

To be completely forthcoming, UA was quite generous to their staff. Futaba's arrangements were quite nice. Her bedroom was large enough to hold a queen-sized bed, a writing desk and chair, as well as a full-sized dresser. She had a rather spacious living area, complete with a bright green loveseat and flat-screen TV. Across an archway lay the kitchen, with polished quartz counters and a refrigerator. As for the bathroom, well, there wasn't much to it. The plain grey shower had Futaba yearning for her old bath tub.

Futaba couldn't help the endless barrage of mumbled complaints as she moved in,_ 'the couch's color doesn't match my eyes', 'I'm taller than the fridge— the fridge is supposed to be taller than me.' _But complaining was her way of distracting herself. Somewhere in the deepest crevice of her mind, her fears writhed; it made her heart palpitate and her palms sweat, even as Futaba fought to keep them at bay.

The woman's fears had since multiplied the night before, when Principal Nezu offered her one of his signature heartwarming smiles and said something that in turn, chilled Futaba's blood ice-cold: "Kayama-san will pick you up tomorrow and show you around campus. She'll also take you to all the classrooms for introduction. I haven't exactly announced Recovery Girl's retirement to the masses, but I'm sure you'll manage doing that for me just fine."

It was a struggle shoveling cereal into her mouth with a trembling hand. "I hate this," Futaba hissed between aggravated munches. "How did I sucker myself into agreeing to work here?— Oh, _right_." She was broke.

Futaba's mind reeled. Surely not everything was terrible about being there. UA, Shiketsu, heroism... They were once beautiful in her eyes, and maybe seeing familiar faces would conjure up the good over all that was bad.

Before she had the time to further mull over the matter, a gentle rapping sounded at the door. With a sigh, Futaba grabbed her bowl of unfinished cereal and dumped it in the sink. She wiped her hands over her taupe slacks and made her way to greet an old friend.

"Futaba-chan!" The woman barely even opened the door when she was engulfed in a tight embrace, a soft and voluptuous bosom suffocating her. This was the famed R-Rated hero, Midnight, alright.

Futaba pushed against her captor's chest, gasping for air. "Nemuri-senpai, I'm going to drown in boobs!"

"My bad!" The woman laughed, releasing Futaba from her choke-hold. "But can you blame me? It's been years since I last saw my favorite Junior!"

At first Futaba was shocked at how nonchalant the woman seemed, especially considering how they parted ways, but now that Futaba could finally get a good look at Nemuri, she noticed the strained smile upon her face. Of course this was hard on both of them; but if Nemuri managed a happy face, Futaba could muster the courage to do the same. _I'm an actress, putting on facades is what I do best_. "It's good to see you too Senpai."

Nemuri's hair was as spiky and voluminous as ever, but with it down (as opposed to the ponytail she sported as a teenager), she looked older— in a more mature sense. Futaba noted how feminine Nemuri had grown as well, the tight pencil skirt and curve-hugging dress shirt she wore did nothing to hide her assets. It was hard for Futaba to believe that at one point in her life, Nemuri had been soft spoken and easily-flustered.

"I see you decided to ditch the hero getup today," Futaba said, a coy look on her face, to which her Senior simply shrugged. "Meh, I assumed you'd rather not have me overshadowing you on your first day. You know, I thought after all these years you'd have at least grown something— but you're still as flat as ever, _Pancake_."

"Nemuri-senpai!" Futaba gasped, cheeks blazing beet-red at the mention of her old high school nickname. "I grew hips though! Look!" She gestured comically at her pelvis.

The R-Rated hero began laughing hysterically, her nerves coming undone— the weight on her body had been unloaded with a childish joke. Soon, Futaba was giggling along with her.

'This is strange,' Futaba thought, wiping a tear that was forming in the corner of her eye. She had been so afraid of awkwardness— of anger from the people she had once called family for how she up and left after everything went south; but this laughter... it was as if what happened in the past didn't really matter. It made Futaba question if her fears were even valid at all.

Then the face that flashed before her, black hair and piercing onyx eyes— there one second then gone the next, relinquished the thought. Futaba quieted down from her fit of laughter, darkening.

Noticing this change in demeanor, Nemuri tilted her head. "Is something wrong?"

Futaba shrugged, calling forth another smile. "No, its nothing, Senpai. I guess I just missed you."

Nemuri leaned back, placing a hand on her hip. "I missed you too, Pancake."

—————

"Over here is Gym Gamma or the TDL, Cementoss utilizes this area to train students in conditions that suit his ability."

"Ooooh, fancy." Futaba cooed.

"You bet your ass, Pancake," Nemuri chuckled. "Lots of things have changed since you left. Come on, we have a few more stops to go."

Futaba had spent most of the morning touring the campus. Seeing all the brand new facilities up close made her dizzy with unfamiliarity, she could barely keep up with Nemuri as the woman explained what each one was. That unfamiliarity felt toxic, eating away at her most precious of memories— the world seemed more off-balance than it already was.

As a teenager, Futaba didn't have too many friends; and growing up in foster care with the only familial constant being her older brother made her unbearably attached to him. So when she didn't receive a UA Acceptance Letter it was like her world came undone. Tohru babied her of course— telling her that he'd take her to Shiketsu every morning, then at noon, hop a train and fetch her so they could eat together. Then he'd accompany her back to Shiketsu and return to pick her up at the end of the day.

Lunches were amazing back then. Futaba laughed along with her brother and his friends, his companions easily becoming hers as well— and when she ever was bullied, she had third years to come to her aid. It was the one time in her life she felt like a genuine, living person.

In her heart, she was just as much a student of UA as Tohru was.

"That's fair, change comes with time," Futaba said as her gaze fell to her feet. "One day it'll be as if Tohru and I were never here."

They were onto the next stop when Futaba spoke, halting Nemuri in her tracks. _Tohru_. That name brought back so many memories— so much weight. There was a clench in Nemuri's heart even as she refused to acknowledge the power that name held over her. Nemuri didn't face her Junior, she didn't want Futaba seeing the heartbreak on her face. "Ha. That's funny, I never thought I'd hear you say that name again."

Futaba shrugged, even though her Senior couldn't see her. "Yeah, well, it took me a while."

"Do you still visit him?"

It wasn't intentional on Nemuri's part, Futaba knew that; but that question felt like a gunshot.

"No."

Nemuri finally faced her Junior, fists clenched tight in a battle to keep her expression leveled. "That's a shame," she said. "We should go together sometime, I'm sure he misses you."

"He's _dead_."

Something about how Futaba said that sent chills down Nemuri's spine— from her bitter look on her face to the darkness in her eyes. This wasn't the same Futaba she had grown up with. Whoever this was before her was a blade, one sharpened on grief like a whetstone.

"I'm sorry Futaba—" Nemuri spoke, reaching out to place a hand on Futaba's arm. "I know this is a touchy subject, Tohru's death was painful for all of us—"

"—_All of us?_" Futaba ripped herself from the woman's grasp. "Tohru was all I had and he was taken from me. You had families, friends— I only had my brother and you took him from me!"

Nemuri took a step back, heart hammering in her chest. She was at a loss for things to say. The Futaba she knew was never angry, never raised her voice; but the person seething before her did. "I didn't take Tohru from you, Futaba."

Futaba scoffed as tears began to pool in her eyes. "You're right. You didn't. Shouta did."

The words out of Futaba's mouth nearly knocked Nemuri off her feet. Ever since the day they lost Tohru, so many years ago, Nemuri's greatest fear was this: that when Futaba returned, she'd have a heart filled with hate; and she'd blame Aizawa for everything.

"What happened wasn't Aizawa's fault and you know it!"

"Whose was it then?!"

"_No one's!_— It was nobody's fault!"

Futaba caught herself before she came out with another retort; only then had she finally realized how badly she had began to tremble. Clicking her tongue, she turned away. "I'm heading back. You can give me the rest of the tour tomorrow."

Without pause, Nemuri grabbed the younger woman's wrist, swiveling her around. "You're not going anywhere Futaba," her voice was stern. "The last thing Tohru would have ever wanted was for us to fight."

"Since you seem to think you know more about my own blood than I do, pray, do tell, what exactly a man six feet under would have wanted."

"He would have wanted us move on, to forgive each other but never forget him."

"No. He would have wanted to _live_." Futaba backed away from her Senior, tears already pouring down her cheeks.

Nemuri simply shook her head as she stared down at her Junior. It was as if it was the first time she was actually looking at Futaba. From the chestnut of her hair, the light tan of her skin, to the deep emerald of her eyes— Futaba still looked as she did then, but there was this distinct pain in her eyes. It was as if she hid her skeletons behind her glassy irises.

The last time Nemuri had seen her was at Tohru's funeral. Hizashi and Shouta were there too. Futaba had broke down before them then, begging them to leave. They did, but they didn't expect Futaba to run off only to never contact them again. The face Futaba wore now was exactly the same as when they laid Tohru to rest. The emotional wounds that scarred Futaba then were still fresh, even after ten years passed.

Then a revelation came to mind. Nemuri hadn't been sure before— but now it was clear as daylight. "You became an actress to forget, didn't you?"

The words came at Futaba like a punch to the gut, she grit her teeth.

"The spotlight, the riches, the men— they all shined so bright you were blinded to all the things you didn't want to see," her face had taken on a sympathetic sadness. "I thought about your scandal earlier. And about how sorry I was your entire career had been destroyed like that," Nemuri laughed, the action left a bad taste in her mouth. "But now I feel glad. At least your eyes are finally open to all the things that actually matter in this world."

Nemuri began walking away, the sound of her heels clacking on the ground echoing in Futaba's mind like some mournful melody. "I'll show you the clinic you'll be working at tomorrow. For now, go home and think about all this." When Futaba met her Senior's gaze as the woman peered over her shoulder, she saw that her cerulean eyes were ablaze with something akin to mirth. "You're going to be okay Pancake; but I'm not your brother, I won't baby you."


End file.
